Just Some PreWedding Jitters
by Dreaming-Of-A-Nightmare
Summary: The final sequel to the La Vie Boheme universe. Which means Dave/Kurt. .:. Sam and Quinn are getting married, and naturally, Kurt is planning. But before the wedding day, Quinn becomes more than distessed, and just a little hesitant. Epilogue attached.


**A/N: Another one of the La Vie Boheme universe! The _last one,_ as a matter of fact. This one is back in Kurt's POV, and it's all about Sam and Quinn's wedding, followed by how Dave's and Kurt's lives end up afterward. ;D**

**BTW: since this is the last, it mentions things from 'Galactic Academy' and 'This Will Take Some Getting Used To,' as well as 'Maternal Issues.' So if you haven't already, at least read those three sequel-fics to La Vie Boheme. Okay~? #heart#**

* * *

So.

Quinn asked for me to be one of her head decorators, and of course I had to accept, because, really, if I weren't in musicals and independent films, I would _totally _be a wedding designer! I love it so much, and while I joke it's because of my gayness, it's truthfully due to my natural love for romance and the sweetness of two people getting together and throwing extravagant bashes to mark the momentous occasion. Plus, I get to decorate things. Coordination is one of my many talents, and it's fun besides.

While having dinner with Rachel and Finn, Christa between them, I realized how special the closure can be when it comes to a couple who plans on spending the rest of their lives together. And after what Dave proposed to me about adopting a child of our own in a couple years or so, I honestly can't wait for it. Sam and Quinn's marriage is beginning to feel more and more like a step closer to my own life getting truly started. It's been kick-started already, but now I feel like it's finally up and running, and slowly turning into a reliable path to live by.

Giddy with more positive emotion than should be humanly acceptable, I plow through all of the preparations with ease, giving my advice, consent, opinion, and overall guidance to Quinn as she asks questions and proposes themes and selects food and décor and locations and times. We set up an elaborate – but financially doable – layout of wedding, reception, and party. It takes time – over a month worth of planning, call making, and gathering – but in the end, it's all worth it.

But on the night prior to the epic shindig, Quinn approaches me and Mercedes – ever since the time she lived with my best friend during her pregnant sophomore year, they've been pretty good friends – with tears running down her face.

"Quinn, sweetie, what's wrong?" Mercedes coos softly as she takes Quinn's delicate hand in her own. "Is this about the wedding?"

Quinn nods dumbly, her weeping choking the words from her. She peers up with nearly sea-green eyes – like mine, they either get unusually bluer or greener when she cries, depending on the light – and she holds out her free hand for me to take. I do, being careful not to dirty her spotless white gloves. She's in her wedding dress for the final last-minute fitting before the wedding. We've been through the rehearsals already, and now it's time for the real thing in the late morning.

But Quinn is more than distraught. She's sobbing uncontrollably, a Kleenex smudged with her running makeup in her hands as she tosses off the gloves, wipes her face, and takes out hands again.

"I don't think I can do this. I love Sam, I really do, he's so sweet and caring and everything Puck and Finn weren't – but I honestly never thought it'd come to this. Marriage, commitment, settling down. That sounds romantic and a lot like how life is supposed to be, but… I got pregnant in high school, and I tried and failed countless times with commitment then. How can I do it now? But if I don't, how can I live with myself for letting Sam down, getting cold feet and leaving him at the altar tomorrow? And Kurt… you made everything so beautiful, so perfect, but right now I feel like it's mocking me. I'm so far from deserving of all of this."

Mercedes rubs her back in soothing circles, hushing her and letting her lean over to rest her head against Mercedes' breast where the mocha girl stands while the creamy girl sits. I look on them both, nibbling my bottom lip in thought (a habit I might have always had, or might have picked up from Dave).

Poor, poor Quinn. She's always been so confident, and always stuck to her guns – with the exception of getting drunk and knocked up one time, of course – and to see her falling apart, especially as an adult… it's heart-wrenching. I ache for her, feel for her; even without any similar experiences to compare it to, I know her pain.

"Quinn," I address softly, and she squeezes my hand to acknowledge that she's listening, but is crying too hard to respond. I clear my throat and go on, "Honey, you can't beat yourself up for your mistake in high school. I know that this is what all this crying is about. You still feel guilty, still bear the brunt of your parents' disapproval – even if your mother said she forgave you and was on your side all along – and you're scarred, unable to be healed, from all of the psychological torment you went through back then. But Quinn, it's not all bad. Sam is a great guy, and he cares about you. He'd do anything for you, even if he came into your life too suddenly in high school and never left. But the fact that he stayed – is _still _staying – by your side means _everything._" I use my free hand to lift her chin, and I peer into her somewhat heart-shaped face to tell her with a gentle smile, "If you aren't ready to get married now or ever, that's up to you, and whatever you choose, I'm sure Sam will stand by your decision."

"But… he wants children, Kurt. A family. More things that – that I'm just not ready for. Children are sweet, but I can't stand the thought of having another one when my biological daughter is out there in the world. What if Beth ever tries to find me, our of curiosity or otherwise? What if she sees me with my new husband and family and thinks that she was only a mistake I was happy to be rid of?" she whisper brokenly, and Mercedes' face melts even more, and she even stoops down to bring Quinn fully into her arms. Quinn shakes her head, her tears ceasing for the moment, but her mind clearly racing.

I'm not sure what to say to this. She brings up a rather jagged point, something that's stabbing both her heart and my own. I know that, despite having very loving, gracious fathers, Rachel still sought out her biological mother out of curiosity and for comfort, since she didn't have a feminine caretaker. But that wouldn't necessarily be the case here. And yet, even then, it could be true. It could happen.

"Beth would be about eleven or so, I'd imagine," Quinn remarks with a slight smile as she pulls herself away from Mercedes at a carefully slow pace. "I stopped counting, but I never missed the date. Each year since that Regionals competition, I've let myself remember on that day what her face looked like as I held her, and how sweet she looked through the glass when Puck and I stood in the hallway, and Rachel's mom came by, asking things. I think she adopted her. But I think she knew not to tell me that she did. And while I'm thankful, I'm also a bit sick every time I realize that, if I really wanted to… I could find her, contact her, and ask to see what Beth looks like now." She sighs, her breath jerky and unstable, her lip quivering. But she doesn't shed any more tears.

I take her face in both of my hands and press a kiss to her forehead. Quinn makes a soft noise, her hands coming up to cover mine. Mercedes' own hand is back on Quinn's bare back where the dress exposes it.

"So what do you want to do, Quinn? It's up to you. You're the bride; you call all the shots," I remind her.

"Yeah. And girl, don't be afraid to talk to Sammy about this. You bottlin' up these thoughts… it's not healthy, hun. You need to talk to your fiancée, because this concerns him almost as much as it concerns you. It's your life together, your family to-be-or-not-to-be. The pressure is too much to handle alone, so _don't. _I'll call Sam and tell him to get his white rear in gear and be here in minutes if I have to," Mercedes says in her way of being reassuring.

Quinn cracks a smile. "Thanks, Mercedes, but I'm not sure. I know he could never hate me, but I'd hate to crush him like this."

"You wouldn't be crushing him," I tell her softly. "His ideals are romantic and his actions sometimes heroic, but he knows that reality isn't always so perfect, Quinn. He'll understand. Just tell him how you feel, all right? Tell me what you told us; all of it, every word, even the parts I know you're keeping from us, the darker thoughts you're ashamed to own up to, like how selfish you think you're being or how sometimes you just want to push yourself away from everyone else and be alone forever, because it'd be easier on everyone. – Don't give me that look," I add with a grin as she stares at me, her thoughts an open book on how eerily correct I am. "You don't know how many martyrs I deal with day in and day out, and sometimes behave like myself. Martyrdom doesn't suit you, Quinn. You used to be such a fighter, such a warrior. Get that fighting spirit back, okay? And take charge. Don't let one little slip up in high school be your downfall. It was a great learning experience instead, you hear me? It's made you strong, made you all the more lovable, and made you the deeper soul you are today. Can't you see that?"

And suddenly her tears return, but without the pain. These are relieved tears, tears that seem to trickle down her cheeks as softly as rain, and as she leans forward and kisses me on the cheek. "Thank you," she whispers, and as she pulls back, and stands and starts changing out of her dress to get back into her comfort clothes.

"Quinn, honey? Are you gonna be okay?" Mercedes asks softly as she comes over to help Quinn with some of the dress.

The blonde nods firmly, swallowing the last of her tears. "I think so. I think I know what to do, now, thanks to you both. You're so sweet to me, and I don't even know how I got friends like you."

"You attained us from Glee Club, of course," I reply with the hint of a smirk. "We wouldn't associate with someone – let alone willingly befriend them – unless they could sing half as great as us."

Quinn laughs at that, stepping out of the fluffy pink underskirt of her dress as Mercedes simultaneously pulls the white dress up over Quinn's head. "That's true," she remarks with a smile. "Thanks again, though. Reassuring and cheering up someone within a matter of minutes is impressive."

"It's what Kurt and I are here for," the brunette shrugs with a small smile. She hangs up the dress and underskirt and places it where it needs to go. "Now then," she says as Quinn pulls up a pair of American Eagle sweatpants that are suspiciously the same color as her old Cheerios uniform. "Would you like to grab some coffee, Quinn?"

The blonde nods enthusiastically. "Some coffee would be great. Anything hot and sweet sounds really yummy at the moment."

"Then to Starbucks, away~!" I chime in cheerfully, partially forced for Quinn's benefit.

About fifteen to twenty minutes later, as we're retrieving our coffee from the barista, who's winking at Quinn until she makes a show of flashing her engagement ring as she grabs her drink. He immediately backs off and clears his throat, and really, I'd flirt with him to scare him off further if I weren't so madly in love with Dave.

"So," Quinn remarks around a sip of her coffee once we're seated, "I've decided that, when I go home tonight, I'm going to talk to Sam. Do you think everyone would be pissed if he and I cancelled the wedding last-minute?"

"They might be worried and curious as to why, and perhaps a tad disappointed, but I highly doubt a single soul would be prepared to sharpen the pitchforks and grab their torches on account of you canceling," I answer honestly as I lick off the dribble of soymilk on the side of my plastic cup of my cool coffee drink. "Besides, it's not like everyone is unaware of your past, Q. If you explained the less personal parts to them, I'm sure everyone would be perfectly agreeable with your decision."

"I sure hope you're right, Kurt," she sighs tiredly as she takes another sip. "I just feel so foolish. Pre-wedding jitters are never as severe unless a dramatic blonde is involved."

Mercedes snorts a laugh at that, and I barely contain mine behind my cup of coffee. Quinn smiles minutely, and everything feels like it might be all right.

.o0o.

Surprisingly, as soon as I show up to be the assistant I am in the wedding, I find Quinn bright-eyed and ready to go.

"Sam and I had the best talk in the world after I got home from being with you two last night," she relays as she slides easily into her wedding dress, myself being the one to do up her zipper in back. Mercedes does her makeup while she keeps talking. "And it was just so good to get my feelings off my chest to both the pair of you and to him that I suddenly didn't even care what he said. But then, he told me how he would do anything I wanted, anything I was comfortable with, because he never wanted to lose me, and… and I realized how true it was when he says that he loves me that I think I re-fell in love with him right then and there. And I decided that we work well together and that I do love him so, so much that why _shouldn't_ we get married?" she rants, smiling brightly.

And it's such a drastic change from the previous night that I can't help but hug her from behind. I'm stationed behind her, looking at her through the mirror she's facing as I do her hair. "I'm so happy for you, Q," I tell her softly.

"Mercedes, you're already my maid of honor, but… Kurt?" Quinn says suddenly, leaning away and peering over her shoulder at me, her brown eyes sparkling, "Would you like to be promoted to one of my bridesmaids? Or is that just too gay?" And she winks at me.

"My dear, it would be an honor," I say with a curt bow. "Although," I add with a grin, "It _is _a bit over-the-top gay. But I already consider myself one of the gals, so it doesn't matter. But don't think you're forcing me into one of those dresses, Quinn, because as fashionable as they are, I refuse to go as far as to cross-dress so thoroughly."

She laughs at that, and suddenly, everything is okay again.

.o0o.

It's all a blur. One moment the room is tense, my heart drumming erratically in my chest as I stand amongst the girls in the line of bridesmaids, my eyes trained on the walkway (but occasionally stealing glances at where my lover sits in the pews), when suddenly Quinn comes pacing down the aisle with her mother on her arm, and after that moment in time, the entire ceremony rushes by in a beautiful whirlwind of pink, black and white, the adorable remake I did of a '50s wedding utterly flawless in design and adorably fitting for the perfect Barbie and Ken pair that is Quinn and Sam.

The reception is fabulous if I do say so myself, the party a hit, and I've never been so swimmingly happy in my entire life. Dave dances with me, nobody cares or stares, and I think it comes as both a comfort to him and a relief to me for his sake.

And then there's just everything else, like the cake and the wine selection and the music that makes everything so undeniably perfect that I truly believe Quinn feels she made the right choice.

.o0o.

Three years later…

"Look at him, Sam," Quinn murmurs mutedly as she gently strokes down the side of her newborn baby's face. There's blond fuzz on the top of his little head, and as he curls up with closed eyes against his mother, cheeks pink, she glances up at her husband. "He's so beautiful. What should we name him? I want it to be something meaningful. Something precious, but boyish."

"I don't care what his name is. He's all ours, and that's all that matters to me. What have you been thinking of naming him?" Sam wants to know.

I adjust my hold on my daughter, a petite black-haired, blue-eyed girl Dave and I adopted into our custody a year ago. She's already three years old, since we looked into getting her within a few months of Quinn's wedding, back when she was an infant. We didn't get her until she was two, but it was worth the wait. She calls us Dad and Daddy, the latter, cutesier term belonging to me. We're the only family she's ever known, it seems, and that's all for the better, because like Sam said, Dave and I only care that she's all ours. Our little Alexandria.

"Daddy," Alex mumbles into my ear as she plays with the bow tie between the collar flaps of my shirt, "Is that new baby gonna be my friend?"

Dave laughs and leans over to give her a peck on the forehead. "Aren't you the cutest thing?" he says as he lightly pokes her cheek, making her giggle.

"Yes, he will, sweetie," I answer her initial question. "Auntie Quinn would love it if you played with her son. But you'll have to wait until he's a little bit older."

"Tha's okay. I can has pay-shents."

"Good, because patience is a virtue, and virtues are very good things to have," I say with a grin as I return my attention to Quinn. She's looking over at the three of us, smiling.

The blonde woman turns back to her husband and looks up at him with unsure eyes, her smile small. "Can we… I mean, would you mind if I named him Noah?"

Across the room, Puck straightens up in his chair, looking on the scene with perked ears and an even keener interest. "You'd… you'd name your baby after _me?"_

Quinn looks over at the police officer – she had asked him to come all the way here like she had asked Dave and I to be. Now I think I know why.

"Puck, you were the first guy I gave myself to, and because of you, I had my first child. Without your stupid, horny intentions the first time around, I wouldn't be half as prepared on what to do for this baby this time around. It's strange, but I feel like I should be thanking you. And even though you hate your first name and liked to be called 'Puck' instead, I think you have a wonderful first name, and I'd like to use it for my child. If that's okay with you and Sam."

Sam smiles down at his wife, giving her shoulder a rub. "I think 'Noah' is a great name for him. Go ahead and make it official."

Puck rolls his shoulders like he doesn't care, but I can tell he's flattered and embarrassed. He glances away, saying, "Sure, whatever. It's your kid. Name him what you want."

Quinn laughs sweetly, still tired form childbirth, and looks down at the baby in her arms. "Noah it is. This is why I married you, Sam; I knew you'd understand me no matter what."

"Daddy, can I go see the baby?" Alex asks, pointing over toward Noah and Quinn.

"Sure thing, sweetie," I reply. "But I'm getting tired. Do you mind if Daddy Dave takes you over there instead?"

She shakes her head. "Uh-huh. Tha's okay."

I hand our little girl off to my partner and watch as he faces lights up. He loves Alex, and sometimes gets jealous when she goes all Mama's girl (I am, after all, the girlier one between us) on him and ignores him in favor of me at times. That's why I feigned tiredness from holding her, if only to give poor David a chance.

"Come on, let's go," Dave says with a soft grin as his shoes tap across the tile to Quinn's hospital bedside. Dave bends down, Alex twisting in his arms to run her chubby little hand over the baby's head. She squeals with delight.

"He's so fuzzy! Can I hold him?"

"No, not yet," Quinn says. I can hear the nervous edge to her voice. "Maybe when you're a little older you can."

"Aww," Alex says, disappointed. "But I like 'im. He's so cuddly."

"He is," Sam agrees, and opens his arms to hold his son again, like he had when he walked into the room from the clean-off station to visit his resting spouse.

Quinn gladly hands the child over, and beside her, Mercedes and Rachel (and Finn, too) coo at how cute it all is. In the corner, Artie stands on his crutches with Brittany by his side, her hand on his lower back.

Nothing could be more perfect.

Life is stressful, it's true, but this? This is why it's worthwhile. Alexandria's smile. Quinn's beaming, loving eyes. Sam's chuckling, Puck's soft smiling. Mercedes' grin, Rachel's little rambles about how Noah is going to grow up and be a great, jock-of-a-man like his dad, and how he's going to sing on the side. And the general approval in the room.

But most of all, how comfortable and content Dave is. I bet he never thought his life could be like this, so peaceful and happy, but it can, and it is. It'll get rough at times like life always does, but we'll always have our daughter, and we'll always have memories like this.

And so, truly _nothing_ could be more perfect.

.End.


End file.
